#this is the nonsense k gets on a daily basis asldksjaldkja

[egoludes]

need.

note: so...here we are. my first marvel piece, and it's just bare filth, LOL. @feminarrie​ and i were tossing around this idea about reader touching herself while steve is gone and bucky overhearing/ratting her out, and kaitlin said one (1) thing about bucky maybe getting too into it and this is the result. it’s a long off the cuff concept with some minimal, clean-up-sleepy-typos editing, so i'm sorry in advance for anything that doesn't flow like my full-fledged fics do. i just had a ton of fun musing about this in k's messages and wanted to share! hope you enjoy! 

warnings: nsfw (18+), masturbation, voyeurism of a sort, grey-ish bucky, hints of dom!steve. to be direct, if you don’t like the concept of someone listening in on someone else without their permission -- understandably, a little creepy -- please don't read. this is a departure from what i've posted in the past, so it's okay if you pass!

well, we have to start at the beginning: steve dipping down and kissing you hard in the quinjet hangar. he takes his time, like he's memorizing the depths of your mouth for the journey ahead. and when he pulls away, it's with a smile hidden in his beard, fingers pressing hair out of your eyes to see you. "you gonna be okay without me, baby?" he‘s gotten into the habit of asking that before he goes, your considerate, earnest man. but today, he's especially worried -- he'll be gone longer than usual (and even a small mistake could keep him away longer than that) and he hates the thought of you alone all that time.

your answer is a nose to his jaw, a gentle gesture that makes him tip into you. "i am, stevie, promise -- you just worry about getting home safe to me." he nods, curt and quick, before smiling again, this time a little more deviously. you know what's coming next, but the hands skimming over your ass still make you squeak, a sound he eats up with that wolfish grin. "and you'll be good too?" his eyes flash a darker blue, heat rising between you from that question alone. again, you know exactly what he's asking --- less inquiry and more reminder of the one rule you aren't to break when he's away.

keep your hands to yourself.

it's hard sometimes, but you always make it through, too eager for his praise for anything else. so, when he asks, you have no qualms nodding, pulling him down to meet your mouth, and swiping your thumb over the cut of his jaw. "yes, sir."

only, you're an absolute liar. for one reason or another, steve's away longer than you ever could have prepared for, hours turning to days and days to weeks at a snail's pace. the first half of it is easy enough ---- nothing you haven't done before between his days at shield and now. but, by week three, you're so wound up it's dizzying, ache making a mess of you with an almost laughable intensity.

and it only gets worse as the days go on. you start to dream about him; the weight of his cock on your tongue, or how it feels twitching and leaking against your thigh just before he cracks you open. you dream about the way he'd fucked you the last night he was home, fingers in your mouth so you can taste yourself while he filled you. he'd taken you a few times over -- "need something to think about out there," he’d said -- and kissed you long and sweet afterwards. it's all you want now. all you need now. need, need, need licking at your heels like flames.

you crack on week five.

it happens after a particularly rough day of training, body hypersensitive after hours of being tossed about like a rag doll. you feel the tension ripple through you even as you tuck yourself into bed, hair damp from a long shower, and even longer bath. you decide then and there that whatever punishment steve might dole out if he finds out -- how could he, you think -- is worth the relief. still, you start slow; fingers tentative as they slip between your legs because it'd be just your luck for him to come barreling in, right as you deliberately defy him. but, when you press your pointer to your clit through damp panties and jolt at how good the simple touch feels, you start to forget about the risk you're taking. start to lift your hips to meet your hand and let sounds rise out of you, because you're convinced you're completely fine. there's no way he will ever know.

unless bucky barnes has something to say about it.

bucky would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by your and steve's sex life. being one room over, he hears so much of it as it is, moans, whines, and filth, filth, filth spilling into his room at all hours of the day. the curiosity has gotten so large at times that he finds himself asking steve outright what it's like ---- what you're like. the question only comes when he's had enough asgardian liquor to laugh it away if steve rejects it, but he never does. if anything, steve is eager to share; a content, almost proud look to him as he gushes about his sweet girl. his baby doll. his hot, wild, insatiable little minx.

bucky just nods usually -- 'ooh's and 'aah's and quite genuinely at that, because who would have thought that you behave so well behind closed doors? but, he never takes it further than that. never admits how much he leaks just at the sight of you now, or that he imagines you over him when he fucks his hand at night, whimpering in a stupor. it's his dirtiest little secret, something to do in the dead of night when there's no way you or steve could catch him. 

it's what makes this so dangerous. the last thing he should be doing is listening to you. as far as you're concerned, he's completely asleep -- had told you goodnight hours ago now -- and this is your time to chase relief in private. but like most nights, actual slumber is hard to come by and bucky is fully awake when the first whimper leaves you.

immediately, he's blinking past his weariness, eyes darting towards the wall that connects you and narrowing as though scrutinizing what he heard. there's no way...

then, you do it again. this time, more broken, more breathless and his cock twitches because fuck, did you just put a finger inside yourself? there's no way to know, but he could guess. he could see it vividly now. legs spread with your panties at your ankles; pretty and wet with your fingers rolling over your clit and between your folds to get yourself started. he licks his lips, swallows thick thinking about how good that room must smell because of you; heat and musk hanging thick in the air for men with even weaker senses than him. and before he can stop himself, his cock is in his hand, throbbing and angry red with beads of precum already at the tip. he strokes lazily at first, taking his time because you are, too -- mewls still soft and exploratory.

but desperation is a funny thing. for you, it's filling yourself with three fingers almost as soon as you start. the stretch isn't nearly enough --- not nearly as good, but for tonight, it'll do. for tonight, it's just right, urging your hips up and forward at a steady pace as your free hand scrambles for your breasts. you'd meant to take your time, but the momentum is hard to taper after so long without release. you thank god bucky had gone to bed so early because you know you're getting loud. you know you're getting out of hand, rocking the bed all on your own with how hard you're chasing climax, and whining out loud for steve as if it'll make him come home faster. you try to muffle yourself with a bite to your lip, but your teeth come down too hard and end up breaking the skin. brine and copper burst onto your tongue and in a way you can only describe as primal, it spurs you on -- even if steve gets mad about you breaking his rules, you hope he could appreciate how much you need him. how much he unravels you, even without being there.

for bucky, it’s rising from his bed to press his forehead to the wall so he might hear you better. there's a low lying shame at it ---- he knows he's invading your privacy, and crossing an unspoken line between him and steve, but god, if you don't make his head hazy. he can't even think straight now that he's going, bucking into the warm flesh of his right hand while the other scrapes and whirrs against the wall. he meets each of your moans with a grunt of his own, managing somehow to keep his volume controlled. but that doesn't make this any less animalistic, any less wild. no, if anything, there's something especially dangerous in his focus; quiet but needy movements that speak to nothing but this rising urge to feel you, just once, if you and steve would let him.

you're both at the brink before you know it, fingers tightening, twisting, pulling, tugging until you're arching off the bed with a whimper and bucky's crumbling forward, spilling hot white all over his fingers -- the most spent you've ever been.

come morning, it'll be like nothing ever happened. not for him, and certainly not for you. especially when you both wake up to an alert from FRIDAY, clear and crisp: "good morning - captain rogers has just landed."